Nobody arrives in Venice and sees the city for the first time.
Depicted and described so often that its image has become part of the European collective consciousness,
Venice can initially create the slightly anticlimactic feeling
that everything looks exactly as it should. The water-lapped palaces along the Canal Grande are just
as the brochure photographs made them out to be, Piazza San Marco does indeed look as perfect as a film set,
and the panorama across the water from the Palazzo Ducale is precisely as Canaletto painted it.
The sense of familiarity soon fades, however, as details of the scene begin to catch the attention -
an ancient carving high on a wall, a boat being manoeuvred round an impossible corner,
a tiny shop in a dilapidated building, a waterlogged basement. And the longer one looks,
the stranger and more intriguing Venice becomes.

Founded fifteen hundred years ago on a cluster of mudflats in the centre of the lagoon,
Venice rose to become Europe's main trading
post between the West and the East, and at its height controlled an empire that spread
north to the Dolomites and over the sea as far as Cyprus. As its wealth increased and its
population grew, the fabric of the city grew ever more dense. Very few parts of the hundred
or so islets that compose the historic centre are not built up, and very few of its closely
knit streets bear no sign of the city's long lineage. Even in the most insignificant alleyway
you might find fragments of a medieval building embedded in the wall of a house like fossil
remains lodged in a cliff face.

The melancholic air of the place is in part a product of the discrepancy between the grandeur of its history
and what the city has become. In the heyday of the Venetian Republic, some 200,000 people lived in
Venice, not far short of three times its present population.
Merchants from Germany, Greece, Turkey and a host of other countries maintained warehouses here;
transactions in the banks and bazaars of the Rialto dictated the value of commodities all over the
continent; in the dockyards of the Arsenale the workforce was so vast that a warship could be built
and fitted out in a single day; and the Piazza San Marco was perpetually thronged with people here
to set up business deals or report to the Republic's government. Nowadays it's no longer a living
metropolis but rather the embodiment of a fabulous past, dependent for its survival largely on the
people who come to marvel at its relics.

The monuments which draw the largest crowds are the Basilica di San Marco - the mausoleum of the
city's patron saint - and the Palazzo Ducale - the home of the doge and all the governing councils.
Certainly these are the most dramatic structures in the city: the first a mosaic-clad emblem of
Venice's Byzantine origins, the second perhaps the finest of all secular Gothic buildings.
Every parish rewards exploration, though - a roll-call of the churches worth visiting would
feature over fifty names, and a list of the important paintings and sculptures they contain
would be twice as long. Two of the distinctively Venetian institutions known as the Scuole
retain some of the outstanding examples of Venice
Renaissance art - the Scuola di San Rocco , with its dozens of pictures by Tintoretto,
and the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavoni , decorated with a gorgeous sequence by Carpaccio.

Although many of the city's treasures remain in the buildings for which they were created,
a sizeable number have been removed to one or other of Venice's museums. The one that should
not be missed is the Accademia , an assembly of Venetian painting that consists of virtually
nothing but masterpieces; other prominent collections include the museum of eighteenth-century
art in the Ca' Rezzonico and the Museo Correr , the civic museum of Venice - but again,
a comprehensive list would fill a page.

Then, of course, there's the inexhaustible spectacle of the streets themselves, of the majestic
and sometimes decrepit palaces, of the hemmed-in squares where much of the social life of the
city is conducted, of the sunlit courtyards that suddenly open up at the end of an unpromising passageway.
The cultural heritage preserved in the museums and churches is a source of endless fascination,
but you should discard your itineraries for a day and just wander - the anonymous parts of
Venice reveal as much of the city's essence as the
highlighted attractions. Equally indispensible for a full understanding of Venice's way of life
and development are expeditions to the northern and southern islands of the lagoon, where the
incursions of the tourist industry are on the whole less obtrusive.

Venice's hinterland - the Veneto - is historically and economically one of Italy's most important
regions. Its major cities - Padua,
Vicenza and
Verona - are all covered in the guide,
along with many of the smaller towns located between the lagoon and the mountains to the north.
Although rock-bottom hotel prices are rare in the affluent Veneto, the cost of accommodation on
the mainland is appreciably lower than in Venice itself,
and to get the most out of the less accessible sights of the Veneto it's definitely necessary to
base yourself for a day or two somewhere other than Venice -
perhaps in the northern town of Belluno or in the more central Castelfranco.